High Tide
by Aki1
Summary: AU / The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea. / slash, part 1 of 3-shot


Disclaimer: _Code Geass_ – with its characters, settings, and all other borrowed elements here – is the sole property of its creators. I am just borrowing them for ficcish purposes.

Author's Notes: Short version: this is a personal therapy fic that went up on LJ yesterday, and is now cross-posted here. Well, this part at least… eh, more details later?

Warnings: …Hmmm. Ridiculously AU? Much angst in next two chapters.

Enjoy.

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><p>"The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea." [Isak Dinesen]<strong><br>**

**.**

_high tide_

**.**

Lelouch had never liked beaches: the sand, the scorching heat, the errant frisbees and volleyballs that would come flying like little projectiles of death from above. "No," he'd said, more than once, in a way he'd hoped was emphatic enough from the get-go.

It wasn't, of course. "But darling, it's _Hawaii._ It's _gorgeous_." Marianne was impossible to reason with once she'd set her mind to something, and so Lelouch simply had his head in his hands as she hummed old show tunes and his suitcases slowly began packing themselves.

Nine days, she'd said. They hadn't had a vacation together in so long, she'd said. And it would be good for his complexion, she'd said, and listed more reasons one after another so that by the time he could think of a rebuttal for one, she'd already moved on to two more.

He sighed, stowing the first of his now-empty bags at the very back of the closet. To be fair, the accommodations exceeded his expectations; for once the colorful brochures didn't seem to be full of false advertising. Still, he wished the lights in the room had been just a bit less bright.

His mother had been kind enough to give him one of the two rooms in the cottage that faced the beach - Euphy got the other one. He walked over to the open window and braced his arms against the ledge, taking a break from unpacking and simply enjoying the warm breeze against his face. Maybe he _did_ need this, on some level. But there were dozens of other things he needed more, none of which could be bought by his mother plucking off her sunglasses and slapping down the plastic at the counter at a swanky resort in Oahu.

It was then that he noticed the boy on the beach, sitting atop one of the thick posts lining the wooden pier. There was an acronym printed on the back of his white hoodie that Lelouch couldn't recognize, and his bare feet and calves were splotched with dark, wet sand.

He squinted. The moon was bright and bathed the beach with plenty of light, but the boy was far away and it was hard to see him. All Lelouch could make out for sure was dark, curly hair blowing in the breeze, a hunched figure and one long leg dangling off the post.

A knock on his door and his mother's cheerful voice - "Darling, won't you join us for dinner?" - broke him out of his reverie, and he turned away from the window then.

It wasn't too hard to forget all about that strange boy staring at the water.

**.**

_(Fifteen months ago: "Nunnally. I said I was sorry!"_

_He tried to meet her eyes in the rearview mirror, but all she did was stare stubbornly out the backseat window. "Just take us home, Lelouch. Please.")_

**.**

"Ahh. Isn't this the life?"

"That would depend on how you define 'the life'." Lelouch glanced at his mother from under the shade of a large umbrella. She wore a loud purple one-piece and oversized sunglasses pushed her hair out of her face as she lay in the sand with closed eyes and a smile. He had no idea where Euphy was. "I can't understand how you enjoy all this _heat_."

"It's called 'sunshine', darling. Your body needs it." She smiled. "Vitamin D, and all that."

"Fifteen minutes, tops." He rolled his eyes. Dozens of other patrons were either playing or dozing in the sand with them, and even more had taken to the water. The sand was clean, and the water was lovely and inviting - and he understood that, on a cerebral level. It was the same as how he _understood_ that some people enjoyed sports, if only for its supposed benefits. But that didn't make him dislike it any less. "And not like _this_."

"Oh but you really ought to enjoy it while we're here." She rolled over gracefully, until she was lying on her stomach on the flimsy blanket atop the sand, and pulled her sunglasses down. "_Savor_ it. Heaven knows you won't get as much the whole time you're in London."

Lelouch cracked a smile. Early last year he'd gotten in touch with an eminent, if rather eccentric professor at the Cavendish Laboratory in Cambridge; he showed up to the video interview fifteen minutes late and with food stains on the front of his lab coat, but his research was interesting and he was eager to collaborate. And it was because of the man's name and pedigree that Lelouch's home university green-lit his request to spend this coming semester abroad; it wasn't exactly in London, but the weekends were his and the trains ran fast. "I'm looking forward to that."

"But did you really have to choose such a dreary place?"

He frowned. "I like it there."

"By the time you get back to Greenwich you'll be as pale as a ghost," Marianne lamented, rather dramatically and to no-one in particular. She did lift her sunglasses once more, though, breaking into a smile as she stared at something over his shoulder. "Oh look, Euphy's making sand castles with that little girl! Maybe you should join her."

He did look. But something else pulled his gaze to focus past where her finger was pointing, past the shoreline and over Euphemia's bright floppy hat, into the water. A strong breeze had picked up, soothing to his already burnt skin. So had the waves, and there were maybe half a dozen surfers who had taken advantage of this.

But the only one he saw was the boy from last night.

It had to be him, Lelouch told himself. It was hard to tell for sure, and there were so many ways he could be completely wrong, but: same height, same build, that same messy hair. His skin was an even tan against the white and gold of his board, almost bronze. Lelouch wasn't sure if the shorts were the same as before, but the sweatshirt was long gone, revealing a lightly sculpted torso, toned arms and calves.

"Darling?" Marianne's voice sounded as though it were coming from very far away. "I think I'm going in for a dip. Do keep an eye out for our things, all right?"

"Right." He swallowed as he watched the boy maneuver his way to the shoulder of the wave, the board a white bullet cutting a line across it. He vanished from view as the wave curled over him, only to reappear once more. The spray of foam and water sent droplets splashing across his skin and the fabric of his board shorts clung to his thighs; his wet hair, to his temples. "Right."

(It was too far away to tell, but Lelouch imagined he wore a smile.)

**.**

It rained that night, a soft drizzle, just enough to clear the beach and fill the air with the scent of leaves and cool earth. Any plans for a night-time swim were derailed; they spent the hours watching old movies on the large flat-screen in the common area of the cottage. Euphy burnt the popcorn and Marianne kept insisting on romantic comedies, but other than that it was all right. Ice came in the form of water frozen into logs from plastic bags, and he had to cut them into chips with a kitchen knife, but it was all right.

For at least a few hours, he forgot. And by the time he _remembered_, he was already in his room. And he was grateful.

He kept the windows closed and the curtains down. Rain pitter-pattered softly against the glass until sunrise, but he couldn't see the beach.

This was all right, too.

**.**

_(A year ago: "It's okay, Lelouch. I forgive you.")_

**.**

Breakfast the morning after, at least, started on an uplifting note: "Cornelia finally gave me her blessing."

"Really?" The smile that spread slowly on his face was genuine, and it was reflected in Euphemia's eyes. "So you're finally going, then."

"I think I would have gone no matter what she said." She sighed, but her eyes were sparkling as she stirred her coffee. "But, it's a huge weight off my shoulders that she's okay with it."

Lelouch nodded his agreement to that. Euphemia had been invited to study contemporary dance in Paris, and every word of French she knew, she learned from Lelouch. She was rather decent at it by now too, which made him proud. And she had always wanted to become a dancer anyway, ever since the days she would slip into ballet flats and twirl around the house as a little girl, so at least one of them would be able to live the dream. He was happy for her, really he was. "When are you leaving?"

"August, probably. Mother says it's good to get to know the city for a while before school starts."

"You should. Paris is lovely, from what I've heard." He brought the cup of tea to his lips, flinched a little when he realized how hot it was, and added a bit more milk. "I don't actually fly for England until mid-September, but once I'm there we can visit each other on the long weekends."

"Or we can meet halfway. I want to see those machines." Lilac eyes sparkled with excitement, which faded when the mood took a more serious turn. "And when your collaboration is over..."

"I'll come visit." Lelouch's resolve was firm as he speared the cubed breakfast potatoes with his fork. "Once a month."

She laughed. "And how will you afford that on a grad student's salary?"

"Our father dearest will be paying for it."

Euphemia frowned. "You still haven't gotten rid of those?"

"I kept _one_ card." He shrugged nonchalantly, sipping his tea once more - much better, now. "He hasn't cancelled it yet. May as well use it while I can." What he didn't say: that was all the old man was good for, anyway.

"Hmmm." She took a few more bites, which bought them about a minute of silence. And then: "You look tired, Lelouch. Is everything alright?"

"Of course it is." He was afraid of this conversation. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"It's just that we came here to relax, and...well, you don't seem to be doing much of that."

"Euphy, we're on day two of these nine days of paradise." He tipped his head from side to side as he echoed Marianne's exact words, and tried to flash her a reassuring smile. "Ask me again on the flight home."

She placed a finger to her lips, eyeing the ceiling. "A moment while I leaf through my Lelouch-to-English dictionary: no, things _aren't_ alright." He laughed, and she broke into a grin, silly and childish, but lovely. "I'm serious, though. If there's anything you want to talk about - "

"It's fine," he cut in, avoiding her eyes. "Really it is." He waited for the inevitable _'Lelouch, that was an accident; it wasn't your fault...'_

"But you were together for less than a year! And it ended so suddenly...ah, I'm sorry. Karen, or something, was it?"

...Or, they could talk about _this_, which was no less pleasant but definitely easier. Far, far easier. Yes, they could go with this. "Something like that." He sighed, holding her gaze now, trying to dredge up as much regret from that affair as he could and hoping it showed on his face. "There's nothing I can do about that now."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"Me too." He was, but perhaps what bothered him was that he wasn't _as_ sorry - Kallen had been the one to end it, in the Starbucks across campus where they'd spent countless hours, at the soft leather couches with the round wooden tables where she'd first confessed to him, blushing and stuttering and _frustrated_ with herself, nine months before. Even then, _Kallen_ had been the one crying when she told him it was over, and all he could do was hold her as she cried, for the last time, wondering how he hadn't seen this coming (and why it didn't hurt as much).

Euphemia must have caught him brooding, because when he looked up she was already staring at him. "What?"

"You need a distraction." She plucked the resort's promotional brochure from her purse, leafed through it, and her eyes lit up: "Do you want to go dancing tonight?"

**.**

He really should have said 'no' when he had the chance.

It was far too late for that now, though. The dance floor wasn't all that large, so it was packed with bodies even well before midnight. The flashing lights led to a surreal sight of blue faces and pink hair one second, some other combination the next.

Fifteen minutes ago Euphemia had been right beside him. Now he had no idea where she was.

Sighing, Lelouch downed his third drink of the night. He brought the slice of lime to his mouth and recalled, three seconds too late, how Kallen had once told him never to do that (_"Seriously. They're out all day, and nobody ever washes them!"_) Oh well. It cleared his head, just a little bit. The lights tired his eyes, and the pounding base made his chest hurt.

"Here by yourself?"

Somehow he managed to melt into a practiced smile. "Not quite. I happen to be in the company of..." He glanced back at the dance floor. "A hundred people, give or take."

The girl laughed. She was about his age, with blonde hair (or was it red? Lelouch waited until the lights changed to something that _wasn't_ blue or purple before deciding no, it was definitely blonde.) "I wouldn't call this 'company'." She dimpled mischievously. "Well. Are you just gonna sit there or are you gonna offer me a drink?"

Lelouch signalled to the bartender as he walked by. "Another rum and coke for me," he drummed his fingers and nodded at the girl who now slipped into the seat beside him, "and a sangria for her, if you please."

She raised an eyebrow at that. They were exquisitely shaped, plucked to perfection; they framed her eyes in a way that graced her with a permanent air of mischief. "Is that you being a gentleman, or you insulting me?"

"It's whatever you want it to be." He paused and wondered if he'd broken some unwritten local rule, or how on earth that could be construed as an insult. Kallen had always liked sangrias.

But then again, this wasn't Kallen. "My name's Milly."

A corner of his lips lifted up automatically. "Alan." Their drinks arrived, his in a lowball glass and hers complete with a tiny paper umbrella. "Cheers."

She weaved in and out of his night like a butterfly; he remained seated at the bar, alternating between mixed drinks and colas or mocktails, and her disappearing into the crowd and coming back to him from time to time, slowly getting drunker every time.

"So what's the story?" she asked, somewhat vacantly during the third hour. "Tell me, what's the story?"

"No story." He shrugged. "The family's here on vacation. I'm mostly along for the ride."

"Mmm. How's it been, so far?"

He watched, equal parts impressed and disturbed, as she downed a shot of...something (Jack?) in one go. "Not too bad."

Milly never left his side after that, and he learned a lot about her in that short period of time: she was from Phoenix, and just finished her Master's in English ("Congratulations.") She would be starting an internship with a major national newspaper next week, which had her both excited and scared to death.

But her real love, she insisted, was theater. She did supporting roles and stage management for her school's current production, but she was no stranger to leading roles and would he like to come and watch? "I'll try my best," he lied, and when Euphy caught his eye from the other side of the dance floor, already back into her heels and her purse in hand, he subtly nodded at her to go ahead.

He wasn't sure how he eventually convinced Milly it was time to call it a night, but after clearing their tabs he found himself with a giggling girl clutching at his waist, her shoes slung over her shoulder as she stumbled barefoot across the sand. Lelouch's arm around her shoulder was the only thing that kept her from tripping over her own feet once or twice, at which she would laugh and proclaim herself 'the biggest idiot on this island', and Lelouch would politely chuckle and say no, she wasn't.

It took forever to find the cottage she was renting with two other girls, and it seemed, from the closed doors and the shoes at the entrance, that they had already turned in for the night. Navigating an unfamiliar cottage in the dark was a gargantuan task when he remembered he had to make as little noise as possible, and Milly was not helping. But they managed, somehow.

"You're sweet," she murmured with a sigh, as they finally reached the door to her bedroom.

"I've been called other things far more often." Milly had her face buried in his shoulder and her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. A buzz in his pocket alerted him to a worried text from Marianne, which he read behind her back: _'Home soon,'_ he replied, looking forward to a hot shower and warm bed.

"You are." She paused, but she didn't lift her head. "Well, now what?"

"Now what?" he repeated. He wasn't daft. What, indeed.

She chuckled. Her breath was warm against his skin, and he could smell the alcohol from here. "Do you want to crash for the night?" She pulled him closer, pressed their hips together. "Do you want to talk? Do you want to get stupid with each other? What do you want?"

He shut his eyes and let her push back his collar, undo the top few buttons, trail kisses along his neck. Her hair smelled like lemons and smoke from the bar.

But he was still so, so woefully sober.

"I'm sorry." He whispered that and meant it, planting a short kiss on her forehead then, near the roots of her hair. "Good night."

He didn't _run_ out of the cottage. But then again, she didn't follow him either.

**.**

The walk back to his own cottage was cold, miserable, and entirely too long.

Yet for some reason, instead of cutting through the complex of other cottages and villas, he took the winding path along the beach. It was more peaceful this way, away from the late-night partiers and smattering of locals who kept the resort running twenty-four-seven. It was a funny thing, that he could think best when it was literally quiet - not because of that per se, but because most of the time, it was something he wanted to avoid.

Here, there was only the soft sound of small waves crashing against the shore.

Once, the buzzing in his pocket began anew, and it was insistent. He took his phone out and saw that Marianne was calling him, now. But he merely looked at the display and stared at it until the screen changed, helpfully informing him that he'd missed a call.

Lelouch sighed. _This clearly wasn't working._

Maybe that was it then: this vacation, as the means to an end, was doomed from the beginning. The corollary: perhaps the only way to recover was to bury himself in his work, something he fully intended to do the moment he set foot back in Connecticut. Yes, this made sense. The brain could only focus on so many things at once (he, of all people, should know this). If he bombarded it with several things at once, then maybe, just maybe - it wouldn't notice the body on the shore.

..._ What?_

He blinked, several times. First, he thought it was the rum. Next, he thought it was exhaustion, or that that blur of white every so often being obscured by the incoming waves was something else.

Finally, he was running.

"Oh my God - " He crossed the shoreline and splashed into the shallow water, shoes and all. He didn't even realize that the water was cold until he'd already crouched down - "Shit shit _shit_!" - hooked his arms under the person's shoulders and dragged him until at least his head was clear of the water at its furthest point. "Somebody help!" he yelled, blindly, into the darkness. The dread settled into a pit in his stomach when he realized no-one was within earshot.

His phone, his phone. Cursing to himself as he hauled his cargo the rest of the way, he fumbled for his phone and flipped it open. His hand was shaking. Was it still 9-1-1 here? Would he be better off calling Euphemia, or the resort management, or - ?

No. Stupid. _Think!_

(But: wait a minute - )

It was him _again_, Lelouch realized, something not too different from horror creeping up his spine. He was pale now, and was dressed to kill - silk shirt and tailored pants, a silver watch that was probably ruined by now - though he seemed to be missing his shoes. He recognized him from the way the mess of wet curls flattened against his head...which was trivial, and _ridiculous_, and again he could so easily be _wrong_ about this. He hoped he was.

Also: somewhere in the midst of panicking and trying to resolve whether or not he was indeed wrong, he finally noticed that the boy wasn't breathing.

"Fuck." He pressed the button to dial the last caller (_Marianne_) and tossed his phone aside, not waiting for the ring. He brought his ear close to the boy's face - nothing. God damn it. He wasn't trained for this. He barely even knew how CPR worked in theory. He would end up doing more harm than good, he was so sure of it.

(And yet in a second he had pinched the boy's nose shut and lowered his head. The other pair of lips was cold, and before he exhaled he tasted salt, and metal, and something else.)

"For fuck's sake," he gasped, pulling back and sucking in air. He fisted his hand and struck it against the boy's chest, his phone's screen providing an eerie glow in the background. "Come on. Please be alive." He clenched his teeth before bringing it down again, harder. "Please!"

If only it could be that simple.

But maybe it was. The moment his hand smashed down once more, he heard a short gurgling sound. And then the boy's eyes snapped open, his back arched and the gurgling turned into a full-blown coughing fit.

Just before the boy lurched to the side and vomited seawater onto the sand, though - and with the moon overhead and his phone's backlight the only pathetic source of light in this place - Lelouch could have sworn he'd seen green.

**.**

_(to be continued)_

****.****

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><p><span>More notes<span>: So yeah. Um. Life has been rather difficult lately, and this short (dear God please let it be short!) project is my way of coping, so to speak. I know, my choice of therapy is weird. And, well, it's really hit or miss at this point – either it works or it doesn't, but even if it's the latter, I hope it turns out to be at least a satisfying summer read. Enjoy the ride, I guess? :D

Thanks for reading! Reviews would make author feel as warm and fuzzy as… a summer's day and… and a stuffed penguin. I can simile, guys.


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